BijouBlog

Are brick-and-mortar bookstores, or gasp, even books, now a thing of the past, like rotary phones, local savings and loans, and milkmen?

Some might argue that the medium of print has evolved into diverse, flexible, electronic formats such as Kindle and will continue to evolve. But I think there's a deeper message here, and to understand it, we need to go back even further, before the days of gay liberation.

I was reading on the precarious faculty blog site (which calls itself an online reading room) that workers' reading and education tradition include Mechanics' Institutes (1800) and Reading Rooms in union halls. Dorothy Day's February 1940 Day by Day column in The Catholic Worker specifically mentions the reading rooms in every union she visited. Samuel Gompers' cigar rollers even voted to have a member on the clock read to them as they worked!

Imagine! Someone reading to you as an adult, not a child! And at work!

Now, in the monasteries and convents up to the days before Vatican II, as part of the religious discipline, someone would be assigned to read while the monks and nuns ate meals in the refectory. (I can't fathom something comparable happening in today's virtual offices!)

The experience implied that language was something that was savored patiently, like a gourmet meal or a good sex scene with a partner willing to go beyond slam, bang, thank you ma'am. Whether you experienced it reading out loud or silently, the act was both individual and communal.

In the past, going to a bookstore meant you were both browsing alone but also doing it physically, in a public place where you could, without incurring suspicion, hang out for hours. Going to a LGBT bookstore implied you were also part of a community of shared values, and you not only showed your affinity my physically hanging out there, but also by purchasing a physical source of knowledge and values and taking it into your home environment. Even if you had to hide the book or magazine, it became something sacred because it was taboo, and thus a tangible, living connection with the deepest part of your identity.

Social media is fast and convenient and works wonders to connect others with shared values in crisis situations, but what bothers me about it is that the word element gets lost: the word as both language and also something that a live person embodies in an “I-Thou” dialogue. Kind of like Judaism's idea of the Torah as the eternal voice of God or the Christian theology of the Word made flesh. Something that needs more than a tweet or a non-verbal instagram to express.

Joan Didion predicted something this dynamic would happen in her study of the 1960s counterculture, Slouching Towards Bethlehem, where she decried that the reliance on images and quick fixes (slogans like" All You Need Is Love") to complex problems, caused a loss of critical thinking: “The ability to think for one's self depends upon one's mastery of the language.” 

In those 1960s, feeling groovy meant you needed to “slow down, you're moving too fast, gotta make the morning last.” In the 21st century, where and when can you even slow down? Definitely not in a tweet. And sadly, no longer in a bookstore.

Even the conservative National Review, despite its biases and nasty overgeneralizations about feminism, satirized (I would hope this is the case) some more extreme reactions to this posture. The article is actually more upset that “big government” would intervene even to the point of arresting someone(?!).

Yet, how dare a municipality put up a sign reminding people (in this case, mostly men) to just be more considerate of others on public transportation. And not just manspreading, but loud headphones and backpacks and other luggage and staring into phones and thus not watching where one is going while entering and exiting ...

The fact is, both sexes use specific body language to assert dominance; in the case of guys, such dominance usually involves taking up space, marking territory, as it were.

Manspread is one of those postures, as is the hands on hips or arms akimbo one. The latter also indicates readiness (sports players often stand this way waiting for action in a game) as well as dominance, and some studies have revealed that African-American women will also use this pose to show disagreement or even disgust.

Have I noticed this pose? Yes, of course, because who at gay men isn't looking for a seductive bulge? A gay man thus might interpret this pose differently, as a sexual come-on, however unconscious. But does a gay man interpret the accompanying power dynamic differently?

I could see this particularly pose as actually more submissive than dominant. The cock is open for play. And for those BDSM-inclined guys, open for cock and ball torture. In a pansexual BDSM scene, a dominatrix might want this pose so she could squeeze the guy's cock and balls. I even coined a term called “slavespread;” a sub bottom slave would sit this way, hands behind his back, cock and balls exposed.

I don't want to suggest that everyone should thus enjoy manspreading. There's a time and place to get horny, be it a dominant, submissive or mutual interaction. Move your legs. Let someone else sit next to you. Well, in the case of a gay man, that action might end up becoming an even more intimate proposition.

Despite these setbacks the gay liberation counterculture was in full swing, despite so many setbacks, and the gay porn industry, at that time a major outlet for expressing openly (and often artistically) gay men's sexuality, was flourishing in its film to movie theater format.

When I first came out in the eighties, there was a big gay bar that I guess you could also call a cabaret in Chicago, called Gentry. It was rumored to be the place to pick up a rich husband. Now, apparently, such places were not at all uncommon in Chicago, strictly gay cabarets often featuring drag performers, as far back as the 1930s.

According to Lucinda Fleeson in an article called “The Gay 30s,” there was place called Diamond Lil's, at 909 North Rush Street (get the reference to Mae West?), that was so popular people ended up being turned away. And the high society people flocked to those places; the Chicago Gray Line Sightseeing Company included gay pick up venues such as Bughouse Square in front of the Newberry Library as part of its package, appealing to the allure of what is strange, different, “queer.”

Yes, Chicago was Sin City, until mayor Edward Kelly decided to “clean up” the nightlife, and the moral panic of 1936 (everyone was a potential sex predator; remember the 1980s Satanic day care crisis? Same mentality) pretty much ended what was called “The Pansy Craze.”

Tastes have changed, and cabaret seems to have become a more specialized entertainment, not because of its audience, but because of its musical appeal. Some claim that piano bars/cabarets in general declined by the late eighties because of the popularity of electronic music, disc jockeys, bands, and even live karaoke.

In fact, I can't think of a specifically gay cabaret in Chicago since the closing of Gentry (it tried to revive itself in Boystown after leaving the Rush Street area, but it has since closed). There's a place called Davenports in the hipster area Wicker Park which is a piano bar not specifically gay (I noticed on its schedule a gay tribute for Pride Month, focusing on gay icons of the past, but no drag acts), and Mary's Attic, a gay venue in the now heavily gay area of Andersonville often puts on cabaret acts.